


The Viking Bride

by penpenhooray



Series: Viking AU [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vikings, Celtic Techie, Kidnapping, M/M, Matt that is not how you pick up dates, Mentions of non-con, Mpreg, Viking Kylo, Viking Matt, Vikings pillage shit, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7839610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpenhooray/pseuds/penpenhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is the strong leader of his Viking clan, he lives for battle, it gives him purpose.</p>
<p>But as his warriors raze a Celtic village, the sight of a lovely redhead makes Matt realize that it might just be the perfect time to take a bride.</p>
<p>Even if he does have to carry him, kicking and screaming, back to his village.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Viking Bride

**Author's Note:**

> So here is the first scene of my Viking AU. I hope you will forgive the lack of historical accuracy. If you like it, or have an idea for other scenes and drabbles, feel free to let me know on tumblr (same name)!

Battle was the language Matt spoke best. It made his body sing.

 

Matt had always been one of the strongest warriors of his clan, leading numerous raids upon the villages of their enemies, bringing back bounty to help his clan thrive and grow. It was the one place where his anger was his greatest strength, as opposed to making others look at him with scorn.

 

He lived for the raids, the rage of battle: the sounds of villages burning, of swords and axes clanging against one another, of the battle cries that fill the air. He lived for the thrill of victory: the animals they butcher for precious meat, the crops they pillage…the brides they bring back, slung over their shoulders to provide good comfort and strong children.

 

Not that Matt had ever taken brides for himself. It wasn’t as if he frowned upon the ritual of taking soft carriers as thralls or concubines, not at all. It was simply a matter that no being had ever caught his attention. Yet.

 

Matt stood amidst the ruins of what must have been a lodging, his feet kicking up ash and embers as he walked. His sword was already stained with the blood of many, and hung heavy in his hand. The village was already in shambles, as buildings burned, and livestock tried to flee, only to be plundered by Matt’s warriors.

 

“I did not see many of their warriors.” Came the even drawl of Matt’s twin, Kylo, as the black warrior withdrew his sword from the body of a fallen celt. “The fight was almost too easy.”

 

Matt nodded, “The spoils should feed the clan’s strength, though, we will not go hungry this winter.”

 

If Kylo had given Matt an answer, he did not hear it, for his attention was drawn to a flash of red that darted out of the corner of his eye, as one of the villagers was attempting to escape. And Matt, having not had his fill of the fight for that night, gave chase.

 

It wasn’t a warrior, that much was obvious, as Matt easily cornered the villager. No...definitely not a warrior.

 

The creature before him must have surely been one of Freya’s creations, if not the goddess herself in disguise: his hair, red as the fires of the dying village around then, cascaded around his face and caressed his delicate shoulders; his skin was as pale and smooth as fresh cream, no doubt it tasted as sweet; and his eyes...such eyes, they seemed as large and as blue as the great northern sea.

Matt could feel his loins stir at the sight before him, and he could feel a hunger for more than blood begin to raise. This creature...this lovely celt, he would have him. He would have him again and again, until his belly filled with child and he birthed him sons and daughters before Matt filled him again.

 

He would have him as his bride, no matter what.

 

It was a matter of instinct, grabbing the celt around his tiny middle (which wouldn’t remain tiny for long, if Matt had his way...) and throwing him over his shoulder. He could hear the celt cry out in his foreign tongue, his voice smooth and lilting even in his distress, as Matt made his way through the village and to their waiting boats. Most of the men had already returned from the raid with their spoil, some with even a few brides themselves (Matt could see one of his warriors carrying a bride that was desperately clinging to a child-- he would have to see what became of them later).

 

But as Matt lay his beautiful celt on the bottom on the boat, he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on the thoughts of other warriors brides. After all, he had his own to claim now.

  
  



End file.
